


Sonder

by missegareth



Series: Obscure Sorrows [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Prequel, my emotionally underdevleoped gay spy son, spy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missegareth/pseuds/missegareth
Summary: sonder (uncountable): The profound feeling of realising that everyone, including strangers passed in the street, has a life as complex as one's own, which they are constantly living despite one's personal lack of awareness of it.Back when Aubrey Hyland is mainly known as Aubrey Haller, spending his free time on observation missions and fixing problems for his favourite desk agent; life is a lot simpler… Except for slowly realising the existence of something that he forgot over the course of thirty-something years: Emotions.(Takes place in the time before Eigengrau mission.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Good morning to all of you nice gentlemen and ladies, especially to those from the night shifts, your donuts are on me today!”

A low, exhausted cheer rises from desks, and Nicholas Walker puts the big box full of donuts next to the coffee machine. Almost like an ant colony, a group of people wearing wireless headsets come to gather their fuel: Donuts, and coffee, all the while putting their thumbs up to him, and murmuring somethings to their microphones.

Most in the almost empty office have messy hair, dark circles under their eyes and empty cans of energy drinks on their desks. He pets one of the newbies in the coffee queue, and murmurs:

“You’ll get used to it.” A sympathetic smile on his face, as he points her to take his place. “It feels like working at a huge call centre at the beginning, but you get used to having action through a proxy.”

Mercy triumphs, and he lets a lot of newbies and night shifters get their coffees before him, hoping there’ll be enough coffee when he can get to the machine. And after getting one big cup of coffee for himself quickly, Nick makes his way to his desk; but changes direction before he reaches his destiny when he sees a colleague weaving from her cubicle.

“Morning,” he says, leaning on the cubicle’s wall once he gets there. “What happened?”

She motions him to wait and gives some instructions over her microphone. Nick, with a sigh and rolling eyes, looks at her cubicle walls — picture of three kittens, a wedding photo with two beautiful brides, and her certificates. She talks to whoever’s on the other end of the line, presses end button and only _then_ turns her attention to him. “You’re assigned to Haller again, right?”

“Mmhm, the _massive_ weapon purchase thing,” Nick replies. “What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, how can you _stand_ him?” She shakes opens her eyes wide. “I wanted to strangle him over the phone.”

He laughs. “Oh, right, you worked on that disastrous underground ring thing together — I’ve been meaning to ask you. What happened that day?”

“Fucking Tin Man, I swear to god,” she rolls her eyes. “We got the wrong intel, he’s in the wrong position and the worst thing is — they were expecting it, about to close in on him. And you know what he says? ‘ _Please remain calm, Agent Hamilton, panicking is helping neither of us.’_ I wasn’t freaking out or anything, I was just telling him to _get out of there_ before it was too late.”

Nick makes a grimace. “Yeah, he’s kinda lacking in the emotions department. He didn’t get caught though, right?”

“Oh, no, he _got_ caught — they barged in while he was there. But by that time apparently he hid all the gear, and greeted them half naked, as if he just came out of the shower. I listened through the whole exchange, you wouldn’t believe, the only trace of emotion I heard in his voice that day.”

He laughs. “You should’ve trusted him Linda.”

“I _did_ trust him, like I trusted our intel — one let me down, what if the other did the same? But that’s not the point — my point is that, how can you stand working with him?”

“I got used to it,” he replies. His phone buzzes, but he ignores that successfully. “But one thing — please tell me you didn’t call him _Tin Man_ to his face.”

“Of course I didn’t. I always mute my — what happened?”  Linda stops, seeing Nick face palming. “Don’t tell me he _heard_.”

Nick sighs, deeply. “He did.” Seeing her eyes going a bit wide, he explains: “You apparently didn’t mute your microphone, because the next day he asked me if the other desk agents called him that, and what it meant.”

Linda raises her eyebrows. “He talks to you outside of the missions?”

“Don’t change the subject — you’re lucky he didn’t write that in his report.”

“Yeah, it was a slip up — heat of the moment,” she waves her hand, with an obvious distraught. “It wouldn’t get me in trouble.”

“I guess it wouldn’t, but still… You asked me how I can work with him,” he shakes his head. “I don’t call him _Tin Man,_ for starters… Whatever — see you ‘round, Linda.”

Shaking his head, he checks his phone that buzzed at least nine times since he walked into the office. Number _ten_ glares right next to the name _Alec,_ which makes him groan.

He finally gets to his desk, turning his computer on and putting his headphones on. He checks the time, waits for precisely two minutes before making the signalling call. It’s standard boring procedure after that: waiting for the return call. His agent doesn’t spend too much time, though — almost in a _second_ his phone rings back, and he hits the answer button almost before he hears the ring tone.

“Good morning to my favourite field agent,” he greets him with a smile, despite knowing he can’t see it. “You should’ve been here, Aubrey, I brought donuts to the office.”

“Good morning Nicholas,” Aubrey replies. “I’m in position, the cameras have been recording for two hours — usual server, password _pt78au79._ Our target isn’t in sight yet.”

“Gotcha,” he connects to the portable surveillance system and opens all the camera views at once. There’s still ten minutes until the official mission start, yet it doesn’t surprise him that Aubrey set everything up hours ago. “Yeah, I can see it now. How was your weekend?”

“I slept through the whole thing,” Aubrey replies, and Nick pulls Aubrey’s schedule up on his secondary screen. “Wow, you deserved it, my friend…” The _on a mission grey_ is the only colour on poor guy’s schedule for the previous month. “At least yours was better than mine — you should’ve seen it, it was like a soap opera. Boyfriend and I broke up, or I broke up with him and he didn’t take it very well.”

Aubrey doesn’t respond, and Nick continues. “He’s been texting me nonstop since the morning. _Jeez,_ fifteenth message?” He shakes his head. “Get a grip, right? By the way, green convertible sighted — on fifth screen, the camera that checks the parking lot.”

“Got it, the henchlady is behind the wheel.” 

Nick clicks on the mission file, and brings up _Notes_ part to create a checklist. “Valentine Edwards gets a hundred percent on attendance. _Every single mission_ dealing with guns, and she’s there. Blackburn must be making bank.”

They watch in silence as grey SUVs park right across Edwards’ convertible, and a group of armed men get out first. “So weird,” Nick comments. “It’s just one person in front of them — why the army?”

“Two people,” Aubrey corrects him. “Add Alya Markovich to the attendance list.”

“Location? I cannot see her.”

“Dead spot — fifth floor of the building next to mine. Connect to my binoculars. Edwards brought her sniper with her.”

Nick connects through Aubrey’s binoculars. “Oh, this could get interesting.”

“It probably will not — this is just an offer exchange meeting. Markovich is there just in case _._ Lean back and sip your coffee.” He doesn’t sound sarcastic when he says this, although when does Aubrey sound like _anything?_ “I’m launching the drone in a few minutes. Just don’t take your eyes off the surveillance, I’m on my way to the roof.”

“Aye aye captain,” he actually leans back and divides surveillance feed between his two screens. After making sure the proximity sensors also alive and on fire, “By the way,” he says. “I’ve talked to Hamilton. Y’know. Bureau’s self-proclaimed comedian?”

Aubrey doesn’t respond — which in itself is a respond. That’s the thing about him that the other desk agents don’t get: Aubrey Haller is not a man of many words, and he usually uses those words in three circumstances. First, if there’s something going on with the mission. Second, if he’s bothered by _something,_ that includes Nick’s monologues. And third, if he wants to answer a question. Nick hasn’t heard him complain about his monologues, yet, which is a pleasant thing for him. Way too many agents usually hit _mute_ on the speaker past greetings.

“She didn’t think you heard her comment. Which is not better, but at least she gets points for not wanting to insult you. I mean. _Right?_ ” 

“I wasn’t insulted,” Aubrey murmurs, his voice almost muffled by the drone’s motors buzzing behind. “I just wanted to know its meaning.”

“I know — but, you know, it would be a logical leap to think that was her purpose. Which it wasn’t.”

Aubrey stays silent once again, and Nick checks the proximity sensors to see if there’s a difference. _Not even a bird. Huh._ From the corner of his eye, he sees his phone getting lit up once again, and this time, he decides to check it — even _fifteen_ messages are okay, but when it goes to twenty one… Someone _must_ be dying — either physically, or because of solid patheticalness.

His unfazed expression slowly turns into a frown as he scrolls through the messages. “ _Fucking idiot,”_ he mumbles under his breath. “Fucking moron.”

“Is everything alright?” Aubrey asks.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just the messages. Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine.”

“You can tell me.”

“It’s seriously nothing — don’t worry about it.”

“The drone is flying on autopilot, I’m hanging out on a rooftop and I can hear from your voice that something upset you, Nicholas.” Nick finds it quite astounding that all of that came in one breath, and with in such a monotone that would make a passing impression of a century old AI. “I’m listening.”

“It’s just my ex, who thinks I’m working for the Sectoral Prosecution,” he chuckles. “Idiot threatens me with sending my nudes to the offices if I don’t go back to being with him. In his _dreams,_ honestly.” His chuckle turns into laughter. “Can you imagine the poor secretary — or even worse, prosecutor — who’ll get my nudes? And the lawsuit that will follow it? _Such a moron.”_ Shaking his head, he connects to the drone’s camera. “That’s why nobody should date morons — so that they can’t procreate and give birth to another generation of morons. Then us civilised people have to deal with them.”

Aubrey stays silent, and to be fair, Nick doesn’t expect him to say anything. He just hopes that the _super spy,_ as he calls him, on the end of that line doesn’t understand that he is in fact, shaking with nervousness. 

“They’re moving inside,” Aubrey reports, and Nick brings his attention to the mission with a few deep breaths.


	2. Chapter 2

A slumber party becomes quite unavoidable after Nick forwards Alec’s texts to his close friends from the office. His main goal, honestly, to ask for advice whether or not he should report it to upper management — he is still leaning towards _not necessary,_ given he’s not being blackmailed over something compromising. Or, not compromising to the Bureau secrets, more correctly; because if _he_ goes back to Alec, he’ll compromise from himself — that’s for sure. 

So they are all in Nick’s apartment with a few bottles of wine in front of them, talking about basically _everything_ that’s not _Mission Specific Classified._ When one of them, Rachel Finlay, brings up the _Tin Man Incident,_ Nick shakes his head.

“Linda shouldn’t have said that,” he says.

“Oh, yeah, we all know you’re the Tin Man’s favourite, no need to rub that in our faces,” Rachel laughs with a tone that makes the glasses tingle. “But I really wanna know why he never reported it. He always seemed _that_ stuck up to me.”

“That guy’s weird,” Terry Angel comments. “I’ve worked with him once, granted he wasn’t one of those _‘I’m a field agent and better than all of you’_ types, but _never_ said anything that’s not about the mission. Not even a greeting. I left the signal call, and in a second he called me, saying he had been there for four hours. Four hours before the _official_ mission start. I wanna know what he does in his free time.”

“He sleeps,” Nick replies. “Whenever I ask him about his weekend or free time, he says the same thing.”

“He _answers_ you?” Rachel raises her eyebrows, unbelieving. “The world must be ending. There’s no other explanation.”

“Are we really here to discuss Au- _Haller_?” Nick asks. “I have a more urgent problem: A pissed off ex in possession of some… Ahem… Photos only suitable for _mature_ audiences.”

Terry shrugs. “I’d say go to cops. He has to know that shit is illegal.”

“I mean, on one hand, yeah,” Nick says. “On the other hand, I’m a fucking intelligence agent. I had to know nudes on someone else’s phone means danger.”

“Point?” 

“It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“It’s embarrassing on his part,” Rachel shrugs. “Like, when someone breaks up with you, even _the last_ thing you do shouldn’t be blackmailing them to get them back. It reeks of disgusting insecurity. How the hell did you find this guy?”

“Your friend Eliza arranged a blind date.”

“Ugh, where did _she_ find him? Nevermind — I’ll ask her. Why did you break up with him, by the way?”

“He was suffocating me. _You can’t do this, you can’t go there, you can’t see that person_ … Like, what the hell, we were dating, it wasn’t like he was my owner or anything.”

“Maybe he’s into that kinda thing?” Terry suggests, reaching to the bottle to refill his glass. 

“Well, I’m not,” Nick retorts. “Ugh, I hate that idiot so _much._ ”

Rachel raises her glass. “To the failed romances then!”

*

The building on the corner of Second Street and Angharad Vaughn Boulevard stands tall and definitely _not_ new, despite the logs suggest it’s only twenty years old. Aubrey checks the address and building information once again on his phone, and crosses the street carefully, while disabling the street cameras that might see him for exactly a minute.

Making sure his scarf covers at least half of his face, he enters the building and walks as far away from the security desk as possible. The guy behind the desk doesn’t pay any attention to him, so he strolls away and uses the stairs to get to the fifth floor. Before entering the hallway, he connects to the surveillance network to loop all the internal cameras of the building for an hour, and moves in.

“506,” he repeats to himself, as he checks the door numbers one by one. “506 — got it.”

He knocks the door with his gloved hand, while the other firmly grasps his small handgun. The door opens with the latch on, and Aubrey sees part of the guy’s face.

“Alec Johnson, correct?” He asks. “I’m here for a mutual acquaintance of ours. Nicholas Walker?”

The door closes, and opens again, fully this time. Johnson gives Aubrey the up-and-down, and frowns. “Umm,” he starts hesitantly. “What happened?”

“I believe we’d be more comfortable if we spoke inside,” Aubrey replies. It’s obvious that the guy doesn’t like it, as his left hand slowly makes his way upwards — probably reaching for the help button right next to the door. “For the material is quite sensitive. I need to deliver a message to you. Regarding Nicholas, I mean. It will not take long.”

“Sure,” Johnson says, after thinking it for a while. “Of course — come in.” Aubrey notices his right hand in his pocket — _reaching to a cellphone, most probably, already dialled the police’s number. Keeping it ready, just in case._

“Thanks,” he says, walking in. 

It’s a furnished apartment — and even though their aesthetic pleasance is subjective, no doubt it’s _fully_ furnished. There are even two house plants, which is a concept Aubrey _never_ understands. Having a goldfish makes more sense than having a plant, to him. Some movement, in the place. Plants with huge leaves always remind him of hotel rooms.

When they finally reach to the living room and sit down, Aubrey nods. “I believe you’ve sent Nicholas some… disturbing text messages today. Am I right about that?”

“What are you—“

“The ones where you threaten him with sending his private pictures to his employer?”

“That’s none of your—“

Aubrey pulls his gun. “I want you to listen to me verycarefully, Mr. Johnson, because I’m not gonna repeat myself. First, take your hand out of your pocket and please don’t consider calling the police… It won’t end well for you.”

Johnson, jaw dropped, does what he says. He raises his trembling hands up, and blinks more than ten times in five seconds. Aubrey, on the other hand, finally takes time to actually look at him: Red hair, full beard, freckles around his nose. Green eyes hidden behind thick framed glasses. Not very well built, but obviously spends time in the gym — for the sake of it. _Not dangerous,_ he concludes. _But still._

“I’m not here to remind you that sending private pictures to other people without permission, and blackmailing people by threatening to do so is one hundred percent illegal. You’re an adult, and you should know that, correct?”

“Look-“

“I, personally, do not care about the legal implications of your actions. I’m gonna raise a different point to you.” His voice doesn’t rise, or drop. No emphasises, anything. Johnson can only stare at him, his mouth half open, without saying a word. “If I ever hear about you bothering him, Mr. Johnson,” Aubrey starts, after a deep breath. “What will happen is that, first, I personally see that you are linked to a terror group.”

“What-“

“But you won’t be around to see that, because you’ll be in such a state that Crime Scene Investigation will have to clean your intestines from your beautifully painted walls to get an ID.”

“You can’t do that.” He doesn’t sound so sure when he says it.

“You might very well think that. A guy, waltzing into your house, holding you at gun point and telling you he’s gonna kill you… I wouldn’t believe it either. On the other hand, do you really  want to riskit to see if I’m bluffing — only because you want to get back with your ex in a very, verywrong way?”

“We don’t even have terror groups anymore,” Johnson tries to sound dominant, but his voice trembles at the end. 

“Don’t we?” he asks in return. 

And here it is — Aubrey watches Johnson’s eyes filling up with tears, as his raised hands shake even more. 

“What do you want me to do?” He sounds like he’s begging.

“Simple. First you’re gonna destroy all the files right here and now. Then you will call Nicholas and apologise from him. I wouldn’t mention being held at gun point — maybe you can convince him to that you have some dignity.”

“He sent you, didn’t he?”

“If he did, I wouldn’t suggest you _not to mention it,_ would I?” He sighs. _Such stupidity._ “I am not a fan of getting involved in relationship drama, I give you my word. However, my tolerance for stupidity is always at record breaking lows, and blackmail was an extremely stupid move on your behalf.”

Aubrey tilts his head left, and stares at Johnson expectantly. “I have all night, Mr. Johnson,” he says. “I can wait.”

“I’m gonna call the cops—“

“I wouldn’t do that. First, I’m legally allowed, or encouraged, to carry my gun on me at all times, and you cannot prove that I pointed my gun at you. Second, then I would have to say you’re threatening someone with leaking private information; which is, as I mentioned at the very beginning, against the law.”

“ _Who are you?”_ Johnson asks, tears rolling down on his cheeks.

“Like I said, just an acquaintance.”

*

Nick side eyes his phone, blaring an obscene song as a ring tone while flashing Alec’s name and picture on the screen.

“Put it on speaker,” Rachel says, bringing out her phone. “I’m gonna record it — we can use it to make him backtrack.”

“We have the texts already,” Terry reminds her. “But, speaker, yeah. We can be witnesses if it goes to court.”

He does as they say, and puts the phone on the table for the fear of dropping it from his extremely shaky hands.  “What now?” He asks, hoping to sound aggressive rather than panicked.

“Nick,” Alec sounds like he’s sobbing. “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve never done anything, I destroyed everything, I’m so sorry.”

Three of them give each other questioning glances, and Nick clears his throat before asking _what happened._

“Nothing, nothing — just, stay away from me okay, and I’ll do the same. Leave me alone, that’s all I’m asking.”

“You were the one who tried to blackmail me, you asshole! _You_ leave me alone!”

“I will, I promise — I’m so sorry, okay?”

With that, he starts openly _sobbing,_ and Nick leans back. “See you never, jackass,” he says before hanging up the phone.

“ _What the hell was that?”_ Rachel asks, slightly terrified. “Did someone hit him with a brick or something?”

“I doubt that,” Nick shakes his head, and dials a number on his phone. “But I have a _good_ guess.”

He puts it on speaker again, and they wait for the phone to be answered. When it is, a monotone voice that they all spent some time talking to speaks:

“Good evening, Nicholas. Did something happen?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that,” Nick replies. “You talked to my ex, didn’t you?”

Terry holds his breath, and Rachel shakes his head as the answer comes without any denial: “We had a small chat, yes. Why, what happened?”

Nick finds himself speechless. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says. “You _shouldn’t have_ done that.”

“It was nothing,” Aubrey says. “I didn’t want you distracted at work, that’s all.”

With that, Nick sees Rachel rolling her eyes and Terry giving him a dead glance. “I’m not gonna ask you how you found him.” Nick states.

“Through your social media,” Aubrey answers the non-question. “Which was public, by the way… I would suggest making all those posts private. I am sorry if I crossed a line, but I thought it would be good to relieve you from that stress.”

“Aubrey,” he says, lips curled upwards. “ _Thank you,_ for having my back.”

“Always,” Aubrey replies. “If there’s not anything else, good night Nicholas.”

He hangs up, and Nick closes his eyes for a second to sigh deeply, before leaning back in the couch he’s sitting on. Rachel shakes her head, filling her glass up. “What an asshole,” she says. “ _I didn’t want you to get distracted,”_ Terry laughs at her imitation, and she continues. “He _had to_ say it.”

“I really wanna know what’s his deal,” Terry mutters. “I’ve heard that one of the newbies were assigned to him for a short mission, I think the upper management thinks he wouldn’t freak them out? According to my friend, he wrote a _long_ complaint to Scheduling Department, asking why they constantly change the agent he works with.”

“Well, to be fair to him,” Nick shrugs, first looking at Rachel. “That was basically a love declaration in Aubrey’s language. And, he’s not a big fan of changes. That’s my theory. I’m his first desk agent, he got used to me — doesn’t want it to be changed. I don’t know.”

“Does he have a crush on you or something?” Rachel eyes Nick, obviously not buying his theory. “Almost _everyone_ who had the misfortune of desk-supporting him tells horror stories but—”

“Not horror stories actually, everyone just thinks he’s strange.” Terry corrects her. “And I’m telling you, he’s not _the worst._ I personally have dealt with _the_ _worst_ — transfers from Conciliar or Military Intelligence, thinking they’re above everyone, etcetera. Haller is just _weird._ ”

“The thing between him and me is that we _listen to each other,”_ Nick replies Rachel’s question. “You cannot believe how many times my agents muted me, saying I talk too much. Aubrey doesn’t do that — he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t hesitate interrupting if it’s distracting, but he _never_ mutes you. At beginning, I felt too much gratitude to get pissed at him for _not_ speaking.”

“And you became buddies?”

“Come on, Rach, we all know you have at least fifteen field agents’ numbers in your phonebook,” he throws his hand in the air. “It doesn’t mean he has a crush on me. Besides, I don’t even think he’s _capable_ of developing a crush.”

Terry narrows his eyes, smiling. “What about you?”

“What about me, what?”

“What about your ability to develop a crush… on him?”

Nick groans as Rachel and Terry start laughing.

*

The apartment building Aubrey lives in, is the opposite of what would have been expected of an agent at his rank. Field agents who had at least five years of experiences would normally live in penthouse suites or lofts that oversee the most priced portion of the city they’re in — this is one of the few things, in Aubrey’s opinion, that the spy literature gets right. Fast cars, luxury apartments and whatnot — because the salary they get is actually a _compensation,_ and this is one of the ways the agents _compensate_ for the stuff they miss, or for the relatively care-free life they can’t have.

It’s as if the government apologises offhandedly: _“Nobody would’ve done this job, nobody would’ve put their lives on risk every single day — not to mention the awful working hours, and the psychological residue all your undercover operations leave. So, we’re gonna pay you a lot of money. You can get yourselves good psychiatrists, buy shiny toys and do what we say without complaining, then.”_

  In Aubrey’s case, however, having been taught that he needs to keep a low profile to divert attention, he picked himself one of the less developed parts of the city to stay away from _all_ the dead giveaways of a highly paid agent. It was a building that’s probably pre-war, refurbished and renewed to meet newest standards, but still old. The occasional leaking pipes, the stray animals that adopt the dumpster nearby a home — it’s a perfect place for Aubrey. 

He opens the door after entering two different pass codes, and puts his bag on the floor immediately. The house is cold — mostly because he turned the heating off a month ago, before he left for his consecutive missions — and definitely _less_ furnished than Alec Johnson’s. 

The living room is nonexistent, for that he never expects visitors staying long in his apartment. Instead, there’s his bed right next to the big windows, almost ground level, and full of pillows. 

A tall cactus resides in front of the furthest window, which he still can’t bring himself to throw it away, despite finding house plants really, really useless. A gift from his downstairs neighbour, when she moved in there. First time they actually came across each other was six months after she moved in, and she figured he never stayed home that long. Hence _,_ a cactus. He still is against houseplants, though, but this _gift_ is a nice, welcoming presence when the dog is not around to — _damn,_ he really should pick him up in the morning.

He makes his way towards the central heating, before collapsing onto the bed. The few nights he spent at a hotel after his mission were comfortable, he is the first to admit that, but finally achieving that solitude in the comfort of his own home is definitely something else. 

He turns the heat on to uncomfortable levels, and then reaches to his bed, without even taking his clothes off. He doesn’t close his eyes immediately, staring at the ceiling seems like a great idea to him — who’s gonna bother to _close_ them and actually go to sleep? Him? _No way, too tired for that._

Quite reluctantly, he reaches to his phone and brings up a playlist from Music section, that consists only one song: _Prelude in B Minor._ The volume is down, on soothing levels as he calls it, and continues staring at the ceiling. 

 _I didn’t want him distracted at work,_ he repeats to himself. _That’s all._ Emotions should always be in fifth, fifteenth, or fiftieth place — there’s no room for it in their line of work. _Don’t get attached, don’t spill your vulnerabilities._ Fair to himself, Aubrey doesn’t think he can _ever_ get attached to _anyone._ Since day one, he has been taught that he shouldn’t trust anyone but himself, and that the greatest agents always kept one or two important things to themselves — no matter what the context. 

 _Knowing the most in a room can save your life, and win you wars,_ Madam told him, god knows how many times. He believes it to be true — he lives his life accordingly, and is still alive. So it has to be true, or it wouldn’t work, _right_?

Although there’s something in his mind, a newly sparked fire that speaks with a different voice from Madam’s, already conspiring against him, his beliefs. That fire _trusts_ Nicholas Walker, more than anything.

“You stammered in a written complaint,”his handler, Christopher Galloway, pointed out once, after a successful mission with a different agent. “Why are you this angry?”

He wasn’t angry, he never _is_ angry — except for the times he has to deal with stupid people, and more importantly, stupid desk agents. Agents that don’t understand him, that question him at every movement, and of course, those who’re such failures that they can’t even hit a button on their keyboards… He doesn’t have _that_ problem with Nicholas, _that’s_ the reason he requests him all the time. The burning part of his mind has no power over him, he doesn’t trust _anyone._

“I don’t trust anyone,” he says loudly, before closing his eyes. The smell of the fabric conditioner tickles his nose as he lets himself relax, and sleep in a manner that’s closer to passing out than sleeping.


	3. Chapter 3

Aubrey wakes up with the daylight lightening up his room. Almost mechanically he throws the covers and gets out of the bed, despite every muscle and bone in his body screaming exhaustion. The house feels more comfortable with the settling warmth, but he still feels the goosebumps as he goes to the kitchen, to make himself some cereal — breakfast of tired mornings.

The clock on the kitchen wall shows it’s six twenty-one, and gonna rain soon — no complaints, no complaints… Amazing time and amazing weather conditions to take a morning run, work out some, and then come back at a _reasonable_ hour to check on his neighbour, thank her, and bring the dog upstairs. Honestly, Aubrey still has no idea what compelled him to open his home to a dog, given he’s mostly _never_ home. At this point, it has become more of a joint custody with his downstairs neighbour, and as long as she doesn’t complain, he’s totally fine with it.

The city is trying to wake up, getting ready for a Wednesday morning full of rush and kerfuffle, all the while all Aubrey has to get ready for is at least a two weeks worth of paid leave — being battle-ready at all times is _something,_ but after spending a month undercover, resting can become all he wants and expects in life.

Finally taking out of his clothes, to replace them with his exercise gear, he inhales the cold, wet air inside through a cracked open window. Bakery downstairs is already running, workers are loading some trucks with newly baked goods — but aside from them, it’s an empty street. 

Plugging in his earbuds, a nice change from only having to plug them in for a mission, he presses the _play_ button on his phone, and climbs the stairs, instead of taking the elevator. The rain begins the moment he sets foot on the street, but no complaints there, _no complaints_. He slowly picks up the pace, heading straight to the nearest park. 

The environment around his house seems unchanged in the month he was away, all the shops that were there still are, even the grass isn’t taller than it was — he admits it’s a comforting misconception that everything stays the same while he’s gone. As if the world revolves _with_ him. 

But the reality of it hits pretty quick: There’s a world out there, revolving no matter what — and maybe those who own those parked cars think the stagnant nature of their environment is boring. They work nine to five jobs, doing the same things every day, coming back and yes, parking their cars; proudly call their houses _home,_ enjoy some nice chatter over a few glasses of beer… Something that _he_ doesn’t have the luxury of doing. 

It’s such a weird feeling to be _aware_ of different lives that he never paid attention to, being stripped away from the privilege of the entertaining thoughts in which everyone’s a minor character, sometimes not even that, in his life. Realising that there’s at least _one_ person who thinks the exact same thing about him, just giving a quick glance and judging him… It feels like paying attention to breathing, turning off the autopilot and letting the brain loudly handle what needs to be done. 

So he does the only logical thing, and lets himself to the flow of the music in his ears, matching his steps to the keystrokes of the song. _Thinking too much about frivolous things never helps you,_ Madam’s voice interrupt the foggy feeling. _Focus ahead, and give yourself some room to take residuals of your last missions off the surface._

He sees a cafe open, and heads there. He can afford one day of _less_ physical activity. 

Watch on his wrist beeps to let him know it’s seven a.m. 

*

When he knocks his neighbour’s door, it’s seven forty-seven. She opens the door, dressed in her uniform, and smiles widely.

“I didn’t really think I'd see you this early,” she says. “As in the date, not the hour.”

“It was a trip cut short,” he replies. He doesn’t smile, she doesn’t expect him to — for her, he’s one of those people who just enjoys staying neutral all the time. Weird, but not _creepy weird_. “Thank you so much for taking care of him, Aisha.”

She hands him the dog’s leash, and crouches down to give the big, black dog a scratch between ears. “Oh, Harper is _always_ welcome here,” she says. “Such a good boy.” The part she doesn’t add is that, she feels _safer_ with a big dog in her home. A big dog that barks threateningly when the delivery guys take too long at the door for whatever reason. The cheap rent might be a perk of living in this building, but after five break-ins to the neighbouring buildings, she’s a bit on the edge.

“I got you some cinnamon buns and coffee,” he hands a brown paper bag to her. “I remember your favourite being espresso, so I ordered that — hope that’s fine.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Aisha chuckles as she gets the bag. “I was gonna skip the breakfast but now…” She smiles again, flashing her teeth. “By the way, did you hear about the break-ins?”

“No,” Aubrey replies, with a frown. “Did they break in to your apartment, or…?”

“Oh, no, luckily nothing happened in this building as far as I’m aware.” She shakes her head, her braided long, black hair moves along with her, creating a flow. “It was the one across, _every single apartment_ in a day… And four other buildings. Sheesh.”

“I believe we’ll be fine,” he says. “Hope they don’t come visit this building…” At least he knows his apartment is quite safe, and empty aside from a buried safe. Two proximity alarms outside, four-level movement sensors inside. First two are silent alarms, sending a message to Aubrey. Third warns the local authorities, and four - activates five minutes after the third - locks down the rooms until the police comes. Good system, although the only thing ever triggered it is a cat that insists on sneaking inside.  “Oh, look at the time — I shouldn’t keep you chatting, I don’t want to be the reason you’re late to work.”

“Oh, it’s fine — just, can you wait a second?” She runs in, and comes back with an envelope. He hesitantly takes it from her, as if he expects to explode in a second. “It’s an invitation,” Aisha states, in response to his unasked question. “To my wedding, this weekend.”

“You’re getting married?” Aubrey asks. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she smiles. “It’s gonna be a small ceremony — neither of us have too much family or friends, but I’d be happy to have you there, _neighbour_.” She lets a nervous chuckle, and he nods seriously.

“I’ll try to be there,” he says. “It entirely depends on my schedule, which is beyond my control, but if nothing comes up, you can be sure I’ll be there.”

“Thanks! That’d be lovely.”

“No problem,” he nods again. “See you around, Aisha.”

“See you,” she waves before closing her door.

 _A wedding invitation._ The noise her door makes brings him to his senses. _Me, in a wedding._ It’s been _so long_ since he attended one, part of him actually considers not going _. Consider this a challenge, like an undercover operation._

He can’t exactly reason _why_ he wants to go — he’s normally perfectly fine with not having anyone in a ten mile radius of his personal space, or not being in anyone’s personal spaces. Too much emotion, it requires, and emotions in his line of work, are a huge liability. _The more you get attached to someone, the more vulnerable you become._ Small cracks on the armour he mentally equips himself with are too big of a risk to take. 

Still, a tiny, annoying part of his mind _yearns_ for some human contact. A fairly new sound in his head, mixing with the logical part that always speaks with Madam Markowitz’s voice, disrupting the comforting coldness that has been weaved in since he was three or four years old. A new development that he _finally_ has some time to explore, to _solve_ and get rid of. 

He leads Harper in, and takes the leash and the collar out. The dog happily starts running inside the house, wiggling his tail; the clanking noise the raindrops make when they meet the roof fills the house. 

_You need to figure it out before it corrupts you from within._

He takes a deep breath before heading to the bed, not to sleep but to contemplate.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Most of the time of a desk agent is spent on filling out paperwork and helping with the performance reviews of the newly graduated field agents they work with. They are required to be able to detect early stress signs, and report it. Honestly, it baffles Nick as to why they’re doing it and not… You know… An actual psychologist, _or_ a psychiatrist. But still, the Bureau writes the checks that keeps him fed, and under a roof — so he never complains. _Aloud._

Rachel right next to him, they start comparing notes on each agent they mutually worked with. “Durante,” Nick says, opening the first page of his notes.

“Haven’t worked with him yet. What’s your read on him?”

“He has a problem with analysing the situations in real time, that’s for certain,” he takes a note on his tablet. “But it could be improved.”

“Allen?” asks Rachel.

“Good agent, terrible communicator. I spent eight hours trying to decipher her latest report.”

“Same experience,” she replies. “Although, it took me four. Johnson?”

“Heard he’s a good guy, inexperienced — but normal, he’s assigned to the fields _very_ recently.”

“Dickhead, in my opinion — one of the _mute button_ victims. He was literally complaining through the whole thing about how _boring_ the observation job was.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him he’d be looking forward to observations _if_ they send him to actual field operations.”

Nick laughs. “Don’t scare kids.”

“I cannot deal with egos during missions, they distract me as well.”

“Eh, you’ve got a point there. Kelvin?”

“Best amongst them all, I love her. All about precision, notices stuff the others don’t.”

“Agreed. I didn’t work with her directly, though, I have no idea why she’s on my evaluation list.”

“Happens sometimes.” She throws her tablet on the desk, and leans back. “Hey Hamilton, how’s it going?”

Linda Hamilton, carrying a huge mug full of coffee, spins on her high heels without even shaking the mug. “Boring,” she replies. “Most of my grads were idiots, aside from one or two _really bright_ kids. One of them was _late_ to their goddamn mission.” She shakes her head. “I sometimes really wanna know if they don’t even _test_ them before letting them run crazy in observations.”

“Late?” Rachel giggles. “Oh, someone’s in _deep_ trouble.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Linda shakes her head. “I’ll ask the Scheduling to be excluded from grad missions. I’m seriously tired of little idiots ruining my perfect record.”

“You go sister!” Rachel laughs. “There aren’t new grads for six or seven months, though. We’re gonna complete this round, and we’ll be fine.”

Linda, sipping her coffee, murmurs: “I fucking wish.” Then she smiles brightly at them. “See you guys around!”

They wave after her, and turn their heads to their tablets. “Klein?” Rachel asks, putting her feet on the table, ignoring Nick’s warning glances. “Oh, _grow up,”_ she says, retying her business casual sneakers. “Nobody cares as long as we get the job done.”

“You’ll never know which asshole will snitch, Rach,” Nick replies. “You don’t wanna get into trouble for, I don’t know, _displaying unprofessional behaviour at workplace_?”

She considers it for a second, and lowers her feet. “You’d be better at HR, honestly,” she says, not in a complimenting way. “Knowing all the bylaws and such… _Damn, nerd._ ”

He smiles wide and shrugs. “Klein is okay by the way, haven’t worked with him personally — but Terry mentioned him once. Not the worst in the bunch.”

*

Aubrey enters the old house, quite carefully. He still has the keys, but one lesson he has learned quite well is that _having keys doesn’t mean you’re invited._

“You little rascal!” 

He waves at the old woman, who is standing in the doorway with a shot gun in her hand, rather hesitantly. “Madam,” he says, lowering his head a little. “I wasn’t followed, don’t worry.”

“Come here,” she says putting the gun aside after checking its safety. He slightly bows, allowing the woman to pet him on the head. _No hugs allowed._ One of his own rules. “I’m not gonna ask you how it’s going, because if you’re here, it must be bad. _How_ bad?”

Aubrey takes a deep breath. “I’m confused. In general. About life. About people. I’m _feeling._ ” No need for small talk. That’s their deal. 

Melanie Markowitz, or as Aubrey calls her, _Madam,_ leads the agent to the living room. Getting a china cup from the cupboard there, she places it right next to the already filled one on the table, and looks at her guest — looking like a small child again, sitting in the sofa — and fills it to the top.

“Lemon balm,” she says, pointing at the teapot. “Eases the nerves. Now, tell me what you mean with _I’m feeling_.”

“It’s what I say,” he replies. “I’m feeling. Things… I find myself thinking too much about life I could’ve had if I wasn’t an agent, about the people around me… My downstairs neighbour invited me to her wedding and I accepted it — _why?”_ He pauses to breath, and take a sip from the tea. It burns his throat, but feels good. “I’m not a person like this — I don’t do personal relationships, they’re compromising and—“

“Aubrey,” Madam raises her hand. “Stop. I get the impulse.” Her voice comes out harsh, and he immediately stops. His eyes are almost too big, filled with a fear that he probably couldn’t admit to himself. She looks at him, and smiles sympathetically. 

“What you’re essentially saying is,” she starts, softer this time. “That you’re straying from the principles. The indoctrination. Rules you should follow: No relationships, no spilling vulnerabilities.”

“Yes,” he says, almost desperate. “I don’t even know how I got into this.”

“Quite simple actually,” she says, taking a long sip from her own tea. “It’s called getting old. Per society, you start to look for meaning in your life, to prove yourself that you didn’t live in vain — everything you did built up to something that would be valuable, once you’re on your own. For most people, it’s personal relationships.” She looks at him, straight, as if her eyes are piercing through his soul. “For you, it should be the legacy you’ll left: The things you did while serving the people.”

“Whatever the mission takes,” he murmurs. “Whenever, wherever.”

“Exactly,” she replies. “You’re gonna bury those feelings, and forget you’ve ever felt them. You’re good as you are right now.”

He nods, staring at his cup now. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to worry about it once you’re retired,” she smiles again. “But as long as you’re on duty—“

“I need to stop thinking too much.”

“Precisely. Remember—“

“ _When you think too much, your thoughts start conspire against you.”_ Oh, he remembers _everything_ she taught him by heart. _Write on the board, until you have no space left._ He would do that. Then it was erasing the board and starting all over again. A practice he still finds useful: Getting a phrase and writing it over and over and over again, until he’s on autopilot.

“But the occasional social interactions should be okay,” she adds. “You don’t need to draw attention. Even the eccentric people _talk_ to others, or attend weddings.” Leaning back, she smiles over her cup. Nobody would believe she could probably still take ten guys without breaking a sweat. “Now tell me about your life. I haven’t been following you for a very long while.”

“Not much,” he replies. “I got a dog. Named Harper. He mostly hangs out with my neighbour, because I’m busy all the time. She likes him, so it’s a win win for all of us.” 

“For extremely long undercovers, you can bring the poor thing here,” she says. “God knows it’d be nicer with a friend here.”

He nods. “Sure, definitely.” 

“Anything else?”

“There’s a cat that constantly getting into my apartment from a broken window… Cute thing, but doesn’t know how to get out. Freaks out in a few days, breaking stuff and triggering the motion sensors. The police are pretty tired of coming to check for thieves and finding a cat.”

“Why don’t you fix the window?” She asks.

“I was away when it happened, I didn’t have the time.” It’s a lie, actually, but hey, he’s supposed to be good at lying. He _enjoys_ the fact that some being that always wants to be where he never can, and on some stupid level — which pushes his own limits for himself — it feels like the cat is there on his behalf. “Besides, it’s hurting nobody… Hmm… What else? Oh, I helped my desk agent the other night. Someone was blackmailing him.”

“Intriguing,” she takes another huge sip. “Was it compromising?”

“Not on a security level, no, it was his personal matter. But it upset him, and he got distracted.” _That’s the reason,_ he reminded himself again. _It’s purely professional._ “One of the desk agents called me Tin Man — that’s apparently what they all call me,” he adds to her questioning looks. “They think I’m a robot. Except for the desk agent I helped. He’s quite okay.”

“Do you trust him?” Madam asks.

Aubrey pauses before answering it. “A little?”

“Make sure he’s worthy of your trust…” She nods. “I know it’s against our rules, but after a while, it’s good to have someone who can be your eyes and ears _inside_ the agency. A team, like your father and Christopher were. You can never know when you need one. Especially nowadays…”

“What’s happening nowadays?”

“Oh, you’ll find out quite soon,” she giggles. “Having one ear in the espionage community is always a good thing, Aubrey, let this be my final lesson to you.”

“Final?” He’s taken aback.

“You’re a big kid now, you don’t need any more lessons… I know you’ve become greater than any of us could’ve imagined when I started training you — your father sings your praises…” A sad smile appears on her lips, one that doesn’t lighten her face up but genuine. “I know why you came here today,” she murmurs. “To seek validation, to make sure that there’s nothing wrong with you… And I can tell you with great certainty, Aubrey, _there’s nothing wrong with you._ ”

She puts her cup on the table, and he gets it — it’s his cue to leave. He places his cup next to hers, and takes a deep breath before standing up.

“Thank you, Madam,” he says.

“You’re always welcome,” she replies. “I just want you to know that, the blessing you wanted? It’s yours, you deserve it… And even though I’m an old lady now, I always got your six.”

He stares her at surprise. 

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands. “Good luck, Agent Hyland. Never forget, never follow your heart—”

“ _Especially when you’re entering a dark alley._ ”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Nick wakes up to the buzzing phone that just doesn’t _stop._ Opening his eyes, he tries to remember the context he’s in: A Sunday morning, he clock on his night table shows five forty-seven am, and his phone is _still_ buzzing. The screen flashes Aubrey’s name, which is a surprise — or worse, he missed a mission, _fuck fuck fuck—_

“Aubrey — sorry,” he answers the phone. Adrenaline basically replaces his blood at that moment, feeling like he’s on fire. “I must have mixed some schedules and—“

“It’s okay,”he hears the agent’s voice. “There’s not a mission or anything. I’m sorry, I totally forgot it was Sunday. I don’t think I’ll have any other time today, so can we talk for a bit?”

Some part in Nick’s brain goes all paranoid. The possibilities running through are not good at all, because Aubrey _calling_ him to say they need to talk _cannot be a good thing._ He hears himself saying that of course they can talk, and hardly drags his attention away from the anxiety to the actual conversation.

“I’m gonna be away a while,” he says. “And, I know this sounds really silly but there’s this stupid cat that wiggles through my window and gets stuck inside the house.”He pauses, clears his throat and continues. “Is it okay if I give you an access code to my apartment, the address and reroute the immediate proximity sensors to your phone? Because the local police department is getting quite annoyed with my apartment.”

Nick feels quite dumbstruck. _“You’re gonna tell me where you live?”_ His heart pounces as fast as it can, and it has nothing to do with the initial adrenaline. Taking a few calming breaths doesn’t help, but his heartbeat cannot keep him from hearing the rest of it.

“If that’s okay. I can totally find an alternative if it isn’t. Just a check once a week or something is enough.”

“Of course it’s okay, silly,” he replies. “I have a few friends who are into cats a lot, maybe we can even find a house for the little fella. Hit me up.”

“That would be very lovely, thank you. It’s Starry Road Street, Number 68, apartment number nine. There’s a passcode system at the beginning, but I’ve set up a guest account so what you’re gonna do is, entering argentum first, and then in the next screen, 107Ag195Pt4778. Repeat it to me, please?”

Nick closes his eyes. “Starry Road Street, number 68, apartment 9. First screen, _argentum._ Second screen, _107Ag195Pt4778._ Gotcha.”

“I’m indebted,”Aubrey replies. “Thank you so, so much.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he waves his hand, and realises he’s been on the phone without video, and stops himself. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you.”

“Thank you so much again, Nicholas,” Aubrey says. “Hope to see you in ten months.”

He hangs up as Nick lets himself fall on the bed with a stupid smile on his face, hugging the phone without even realising it. 

 


End file.
